


The Audiobook

by lookingforatardis



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, Audiobook, Lots of memories, M/M, Memories, Post-production, dont thank me yet this is angst, first person POV, the memories arent as angsty so, yes friends thats right a fic with the audiobook
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-24 12:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13213524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookingforatardis/pseuds/lookingforatardis
Summary: Timmy finally sits down to listen to the audiobook and he's lost to memories of their summer in Italy. A lot of angst ensues and he ends up calling Armie and crying. Angst, people, angst. And Armie's voice sparking memories of their time filming. **Update: Part two is Armie's POV from the phone call and that night.





	1. Timmy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing in this fandom but these two jerks are ruining my lives so here we are. Saw a post on tumblr about how Timmy listened to some of the audiobook but it was weird because it, fucking quote, "Takes into mind this whole call me by your name idea, hearing Armie say these things." So, obviously, this happened. Enjoy.
> 
> ***I do not own these people, this is simply fiction (i assume, or someone start paying me for being a psychic). If you know Armie or Timmy, kindly refrain from telling them about this fic and instead consider introducing me. Big fan.

 

A part of me regrets pushing play as soon as my finger lingers over the button, almost as if to stop it before his voice booms in my ears and I’m lost in memories. . .

When he told me he'd been asked to do the audiobook, I was a little confused- shouldn't  _ I  _ read it if anything? But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. No one would listen to it if I did the audiobook, at least with Armie there's some name recognition, I'd tell myself. His voice was better anyway.

He'd call me after recording and we'd talk about Elio, in a weird sort of dreamlike occurrence where Elio was more like a common friend than an identity I took on for an entire summer. An identity that I still dreamed in, and couldn't shake on rainy days where my todays echoed our yesterdays when we filmed indoors. "It's just so crazy," he'd say. Or, "You got this guy so well, you know that? You're incredible." Or, a personal favorite, "I miss it. Everyday. I read these lines and it's like I'm back there, you know?" Or even the times when he'd call and ask me to talk him through a scene. Those were the calls I'd get in the middle of the day, during his breaks. Those were the hardest.

It took just under a week for him to record but it felt like an eternity, which was only heightened by the conversations that didn't end when the recording finished. It was like the audiobook had reopened the wound I'd sewn shut on the plane back to America over a year ago, and the floodgates opened once more.

We'd been doing fine, honestly. It was weird at first, for sure, trying to adjust to life in New York. I was depressed, God for a long time I just fucking hated everything. Even talking to him, it was like a punch in the gut and sometimes we'd just sit in silence on the phone, united in our mutual distaste for the summer ending, his breathing mingling with mine until I could close my eyes and pretend it was still summer, that the cold months hadn't reached us yet and the only thing separating my lips from his were the words,  _ want to practice? _ There was something there, in Crema, that we'd talked about in Italy but could never really bring ourselves to completely express after. The magnetic draw between us had never faded, but there was an unspoken agreement that what had happened was the past, that it was  _ acting _ . "Maybe more," he'd said one night, drunk off his ass when he visited me in New York. My heart had stopped then, but when I awoke the next morning, his arm over my still clothed body, I wondered if it had been a vodka induced memory instead of a real one. I had those a lot in the beginning, dreams that felt like memories. Maybe they were, maybe the lines between sleep and reality were just as blurred for Armie and I as the lines between our characters and ourselves. Maybe all those moments in Crema when he'd lean over and play bite my shoulder, or I'd jump on his back…maybe those were just dreams. Maybe his lips against my throat was just a dream, his hot breath a mirage created by the heat that surrounded us. Maybe I was still dreaming. Maybe none of it meant anything after all.

But then I remember his fingers on my spine during the only rehearsal Luca had us do with him. How he was gentle at first and then eager, more eager than I was, hands shaking as much as mine were now, remembering it all. How it felt to pull his hair, how he sighed…and I know, without a doubt, that I could not have imagined it. Those moments were as real as I was, and the confusion that settled in for good was as well. The memories of our "practice" were strongest at night, and although it had been months since I'd been haunted by him and the memories, tonight it was stronger than ever. So many nights I stared up at my ceiling, his hands ghosting my body, wishing desperately that I could reach out and touch him. That he was really there, and that things were different. The first time I stayed with him in LA, it happened and I actually  _ did _ call out to him, resulting in the most embarrassing moment of my life. He came into the guest room and found me hard as shit and lost in the memory of us wandering the streets of Crema the night we got so shitfaced that we agreed to never talk about what had happened ever again. The night when he pushed me against the wall of an old worn down building and kissed me until I couldn't see, his hands making me call his name in the sleepy town, making me question everything I thought I knew about myself as I tried to get him to take layers off, off, off, _ please God take them off.  _ He looked at me and somehow knew, just  _ knew _ that I was thinking of that night. We'd always joked that we developed the same mind in Italy, that we now could read each other's minds with ease. He sat on the edge of the bed and put his hand on my thigh. "We can't do this," he'd said. I nodded, fighting tears of embarrassment. "We're not Oliver and Elio, Timmy. I love you, but we can't. You know that." I didn't know what I expected, there was nothing he could have done to make it better in that moment. What, did I think he'd blow me and then go back to his wife, maybe tuck his kids in, and pretend nothing happened?

_ Yes, _ that is exactly what I had wanted. But instead, he made me say the alphabet backwards until I calmed down, a trick we'd used in Crema. Then he said goodnight and left. It was the first time I'd slipped up since filming ended. We never talked about what happened in Italy. Not sober, anyway, and not in depth even then. It was just…there, hanging in the memories. I knew he had them, too. He told me once that he remembers everything. I just wish I knew how he could remember and not feel anything.

After the audiobook was released, I hesitated. He asked me if I'd listened yet,  _ have you heard it, did you get it, I need to know what you think. _ I was busy, always so damn busy. That's what I told myself, what I told him. I'd get to it.

I wasn't sure why I was putting it off. Things were good with Armie and I, really. We finally settled into a friendly rhythm and he really became something like a brother to me, and Liz was the best and so were their kids. They welcomed me into their home and lives with so much love and energy that it was impossible not to fall in love with the Hammer clan. Getting chased all around their house by Harper, laughing wildly in that way only a child can, I’d never felt more at home. As Liz always said, we were this weird family but it  _ was _ a family, and it was full of love. I was happy. Genuinely, I was happy with how things turned out. We'd made the choice to stay in each-other's lives after filming during our fateful final night in Italy. We’d stayed up for hours talking about how it was ending, and how we didn’t want to lose each other. We’d cried more that night than the rest of filming combined, and that’s saying something. He held me while I confessed that I didn’t know how to go back to New York and be someone I no longer was. I’d finally felt like I understood some part of myself that was always a mystery, and although that was laced with a lot of confusion and heartbreak knowing I’d discovered it with Armie, I wouldn’t trade that knowledge for anything. He was more hesitant to talk about those things, but that night he did. He told me he’d never felt comfortable expressing himself emotionally, that he’d never felt vulnerability was something he could properly do. It was part of why he became an actor he said, it was a way to be all the things he didn’t think he was capable of being in reality. Said that changed when he met me, that this film and Luca and  _ me _ , we had all changed him. That he didn’t want to go back to a life that wasn’t his, either. That he felt lost and that he needed to stay in touch or he’d  _ lose  _ touch with what had happened. For awhile, after returning to America, we spoke every night without fail to keep each other sane, to help with the adjustment and accepting that each of us had two lives that had to collide until they could coexist. The old and the new, pre and post  _ Call Me By Your Name _ . As time passed, it grew easier to live with those changes, who we had become. I knew that there was still something there between us, that there  _ always  _ would be, but it was controlled by distance and it became more platonic the more time we spent in reality. It had to be. Feelings fade, and I knew they had for him, how could they not when you’ve got a beautiful wife and two incredible kids? If I were him, I wouldn’t give two shits about some summer fling or...whatever we were. Not that we were, anything. He probably wouldn’t give us a label.  _ Nothing happened, Timmy. We were caught up in Oliver and Elio’s lives, it was part of it. _

Sometimes I worried things would never change for me, that twenty years from now, I like Elio would still be replaying our summer in Italy over and over in my mind. I try to convince myself that I’m just being dramatic. It’s the truth, after all. I’m a dramatic person, it happens when you have too much passion for things you don’t quite understand. I’m overreacting, projecting Elio onto myself. It meant nothing, of course. It’s platonic, our love. It’s fine, I’ll be fine. This is just a moment of weakness and it’ll fade, and we’ll talk again he’ll be my best friend and things will be normal and fine.

I snap back to reality and his voice is in my ears, reading the words I'd studied every night in Italy. My heart starts racing, it's  _ wrong. _ I fast forward, not sure why, and stop it a little while later. His voice is back and I can't breathe. He's describing himself- Oliver- from Elio's point of view. The bathing suits. I fast forward, hands shaking. I listen for some time, lost in his voice. Why doesn't his voice sound like this on the phone? Something's different, something  _ wrong. _

Every word he speaks brings me closer to an alarming truth. I feel anxiety building and skip forward to avoid it. Skip again, and again, it wasn't going away,  _ what was wrong? _ I swallow hard and skip to the halfway point. I know the book well, I know where to go. Midnight…

As he describes Elio's inner turmoil waiting for midnight, I feel distant. The off-feeling his voice has created sinks into my bones, my limbs heavy. Suddenly, I realize--

It's wrong, because  _ I'm _ Elio. Because this was  _ my _ story, because him reading it is him seeing into  _ my _ mind. Elio's mind, not mine, I remind myself. It's an intrusion, it's wrong because he knows too much. Too intimate with the thoughts that were mine. I knew he'd read the book, he filmed the goddamn movie, he knew what my-Elio's- internal dialogue was. But hearing him…I skip forward, just a little, just until--

_ Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine _ .

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _

I rewind, replay the entire scene, heart racing, hands shaking, rewind, replay, rewind, first kiss, rewind, rewind, skip forward, play and replay and replay and replay, back to the start, back to midnight, replay, replay.

_ Everything scares me. Because both fear and desire are busy equivocating with each other, with me. _

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck.

My mind is a blur, memories mixing with his words, memories blurring fact and fiction, memories, memories, memories. This isn't like me, I'm better, I'm over this. This isn't like me. I shouldn’t be getting hard, listening to him. I shouldn’t be feeling this, it’s insane, I’m insane. It’s a stupid book, he’s just reading. I shouldn’t be remembering his hands on my back, shouldn’t remember the curve of his body against mine, the weight of his leg over mine, the way he’d bite my lip and pull until I’d sigh, how his hair felt between my fingers, the noise he’d make when I pulled, how many times we practiced taking each others clothes off so it wouldn’t be awkward, his lips against my hip, how he pressed harder and kept kissing my neck when Luca called cut, running lines until I needed a cold shower, how his hands could burn me alive when they skated across my skin with too much vigor, leaving marks so many marks--

I pick my phone up and dial his number, on the verge of hyperventilating, somehow unaware of what I'm actually doing.  _ This is a bad idea _ , but I ignore the voice in the back of my head. I look at time, count back, it's almost midnight there.  _ Fuck it. _ Press call, regret it immediately.

He answers on the third ring and again, I'm overwhelmed with the desire to stop the call just before I hear his voice. " _ Timmy _ ?" his voice comes through full of sleep and I can hear him shuffling sheets, a door opening and closing. I shouldn't have called. Shouldn’t be remembering him opening his door with the same sleep-coated voice that night I asked him to look at the stars with me and he pulled me into a bear hug before grabbing a hoodie and following me outside.

"Hi, yeah, sorry, this is dumb I didn't mean to wake you up. I'll call later-"

"Stop, what's up? I don't mind," he says. I can hear the smile in his voice, can practically see him wipe the sleep from his eyes as he walks down to the living room. He always looks so young when he first wakes up. Like the day when Luca sent me upstairs to wake him, and he pulled me into bed, tucking me into his side and snuggling closer until I stopped trying to convince him to leave and Luca had to retrieve both of us. I push my free hand against my eyes to stop the memory of him tickling my neck with his scratchy chin from flooding my vision. The desire to return to that place and be with him hasn't been this bad in a long time.

"I just, uh, um." I take an agonizing breath. I can't speak, I can't fucking speak he's going to know something is wrong and he’s going to ask what and I wouldn’t have an answer for him, hell I didn’t even really understand what was happening. I just knew I missed him and his voice and Crema. I just needed him and he was so far away it hurt.

"Timmy?" he sounds alarmed. He always knows when something is off. Says that enough late nights in Crema taught him the idiosyncrasies of my too-revealing voice.  _ Your play your emotions so close to the surface, it’s beautiful. Really, I love that about you. _

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just uh."  _ Breathe, pussy.  _ "So, I um, I'm listening to the audiobook," I trail off, scratching the back of my neck and clenching my eyes shut. 

Silence.

"About time," he says with a small chuckle. It's distant, so distant, and I try to capture it to ground me in the present instead of memories of him laughing in my bed, script in hand as we read in silly voices to get over the nerves of intimate scenes that would be filmed the next day. "What do you think?" he asks. It strikes me suddenly that there's a hesitancy in his voice that's not due to sleep.  _ He's nervous _ . I'd recognize that voice anywhere. The,  _ I'm not sure what to do in this situation _ voice, the best Armie voice there was because it meant he needed me by his side to keep him calm and reassured, not the other way around. 

"It's um…" I can see him now, sitting down, fidgeting just slightly with the couch cushion. I sigh. "It's weird." My voice is a lot quieter than I meant for it to be, but my heart's racing again and I can't make it stop. 

"Hmm...Yeah, it was weird to record," he says, his voice echoing mine.

"Yeah…" I wait for him to say something, anything, but silence hangs in the air. It's been a long time since the ever present tension was awkward between us, not since the night we got high after seeing the film for the first time and I kissed his neck, only to have him gently push me away. That was the last time I slipped up, the final nail in the coffin. 

"Timmy, what's really going on? What's wrong? If you hate it, that's okay-"

"No! No, no Armie, god, it's not that, it's just…" I shake my head and pull at the hair at the nape of my neck like he used to. I sigh again, always sighing, always gathering thoughts. Always hiding behind what I feared he wouldn’t let me say. Crema had changed him, but there were some things he wanted in the past, and I was forced to accept that.  _ We have to accept reality, Timmy _ , he’d said. Just really shitty that realty in Italy meant one thing and reality in America meant another to him. 

"It's just, Elio is yours," he says quietly. My eyes slip shut at his words. I nod, forgetting he can't see. "Timmy," he says. I make him repeat it before I can find my voice.

"It's dumb, I know. It's just, hearing you…say those things…it's like, I don't know.. God, no, you know what? It's fucking weird, it's like I'm back in Crema and we're reading lines in your room and I don't know how to deal with that because it's really fucking bright, this memory, and you saying Oliver like that is fucking my head up and it's like  _ that stupid line _ all the time and you're Elio and I'm Oliver and you're Oliver and I'm Elio and we’re in love and I…I don't, I don’t know what's going on in my head but I couldn't keep listening to that damn voice saying those things. I needed the  _ real  _ you, not Oliver you, not… _ Elio _ …you…" I bite my lip, consider hanging up. It's stupid, this is stupid. Shouldn't have called. "Please, for the love of God say something. Or hang up. Just-"

"Why do you think I called you so often while I recorded it?" he asks pensively.

"I…I don't know," I cringe for sounding so young.

This time it's him who sighs. "I was in your head, for days, all I did was read that book. Over and over again. I hadn't touched it since we filmed, hell I didn't even study it in Italy, not like you did anyway. And then I had  _ to be him _ , Timmy. I had to be Elio, and it was like every second of that summer was happening all around me." A deep breathe, and then, finally, like a prayer, "I needed your voice just as badly as you need mine."

The words sink deep in my bones until they're all that have ever mattered. I remember him drawing shapes and animals on my back with his finger while we watched documentaries, making me guess what it was. His voice quiet and full of fondness, a sound I had wanted to capture and bottle for the dark days I knew were coming, the days without him. His voice had always been a comfort to me, it was odd to think mine could possibly be the same for him. It made me bold.

" _ Elio, _ " I whisper.

He chuckles, but it's sad and I can tell his eyes are shut by the almost pained sound. " _ Oliver." _

I fight tears, thinking that maybe it’s not just me, maybe all this time I wasn’t suffering alone. But then I remember the last night in Italy, how I’d wanted to kiss him as he held me against his chest and he wouldn’t let me, his hand against my heart to keep me at a safe distance, his eyes sad and apologetic. "I don't know how to do this, the memories," I confess. "They haven’t been this strong in a long time, I can’t cope."

"Come visit," he says quietly.

"That'll make it worse." I mean it, too. If I could go to him right now, in this state, God who knows what I'd do. I’d probably try to seduce him with tears and my blotchy face and he’d have to calm me like a child. Or, just maybe, he’d want me, too. I wasn’t sure which was worse in the long run. "Besides, I'll see you soon. Press, remember?" 

"Timmy," he says. I wait for him to follow up, but he only sighs.

"It'll get better. It always does. I just…overreacted. It’ll all be fine, it’s fine, really." I'm not sure who I'm trying to convince. It hangs between us a moment too long.

"What will get better, the memories? Or  _ us _ ?" His voice is so quiet I fear I mishear him. I think back to the first time there  _ was _ an us, the first time he used that word. Luca had asked me what I was doing for lunch, and he replied for me, saying that I was going to spend it with him.  _ You can join  _ us _ , if you want. You’re always welcome to join  _ us  _ for lunch.  _

"What's the difference?" I feel tears, I try to stop them but can't. I hate myself sometimes, I really do. Why do I have to cry right now? What is wrong with me? 

"God, Timmy. I'm so sorry, I never meant for it to be like this," he says.

"I know, I know. It's okay, really." It's not.

_ "Armie? What's wrong honey?"  _ Liz's voice is muffled by space. He tells her nothing, but I don't even believe it.  _ Just Timmy _ , he says. Their line is silent for a moment before he sighs and whispers sorry, to whom I’m not sure. She must walk away because his voice is towards me when he speaks again.

“Don't listen to the rest of the book. It's just going to fuck with you, you know? You don’t need that right now," he says softly. 

"Yeah, no you're right. I know. I should just…try to sleep." I wipe the tears off my face with the back of my hand in frustration. I would never understand how he could control his emotions the way he did. How he could just...stop, stop hurting from the memories. How he could turn that feeling off and not remember all the times when I made him sigh my name against my lips, sometimes on purpose, like in our rooms when we practiced and he wanted to pull me back down to earth, or the times when it was an accident, escaping his lips in hushed tones while we were filming, my hands gripping his hair to keep from shaking, Luca smirking for hours afterwards. How he could just forget, I had no fucking idea. I would never forget, no matter how hard I tried, I would never forget. 

"Hey, Timmy?"

"Hmm?" I was tired, tired of talking to him. Tired of pretending I wasn’t desperate for his touch.

"You know I love you, right?" My eyes slip shut once more. I want so badly to say that I wish, for the thousandth time, that was enough. But I can’t bring myself to ruin his night, to start a conversation I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready to have with him, a conversation that would change everything. So instead, I whisper, "I know," and hang up before I can attempt to say it back. I know myself well enough to know I won't be able to without it meaning more.

I make a move to turn my laptop off, the audiobook still paused, and hesitate. My phone lights up on my lap, a text from him.

_ I'm sorry it's weird. Get some sleep. It'll be better tomorrow. _

I turn the phone over without replying and hit play, sinking lower into my bed and closing my eyes, giving in to the voice that was the soundtrack of the summer before last. Maybe, just maybe, tonight I'll dream of him, the him I knew in Crema, and things will be better. 


	2. Armie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!!! A guest requested that I try to write Oliver's POV for part two and as soon as I started writing, I couldn't stop. I became consumed with his perspective, with the possibilities for it. Let me know what you think!

_Buzz…buzz buzz…buzz…_ I roll over and grab my phone, one eye opened. _Timmy._ It was 11:53pm, 2:53am for him. What the hell?

It was a miracle that the kids went to sleep so easily tonight. Liz and I had meant to stay up and have a date night or something—God knows we needed it—but she ended up falling asleep to a movie and going to bed by 10pm. Things were…different with Liz. Things were great for the most part, but sometimes she'd get this look in her eyes when it was just us. I didn't want to think about what it meant, or the fact that I definitely also had a look in my eyes.

I had done films before where I had to kiss people, even men, and it was never a problem. And actually, this one wasn't a problem either. She didn't care about it, hell she encouraged me to take the role and enjoy it. It wasn't until she saw the final cut that she got that look in her eyes, wasn't until Timmy left our place the first time that she voiced concern. _He really likes you and I think you need to be careful. He's going to get his heartbroken if you aren't careful._ I brushed it off, but I knew she was right. She was always right.

"Timmy?" I say into the phone, throwing the blankets off me and stepping out of bed. Fuck, it was cold. I grab the fleece throw off our bed and wrap it around my body before walking out, carefully closing the door so I don't wake Liz. She hadn't been sleeping well lately, I didn't want to make it worse. I can hear Timmy breathing on the other line, too fast, too shallow. It's almost 3am and he can't breathe. I can't help the slightly guilty tug at my heart. _He's young, Armie. Remember what it was like to be 21? You fell in love with everyone. You didn't think about the consequences_ , _and I doubt he does either._ I shake my head to rid her voice from my mind and sit down on our sofa, pulling the throw Timmy uses when he's here closer. It was dark gray and he teased us for it being so grown up, a neutral colored blanket to offer guests for extra warmth, so domestic.

"Hi, yeah, sorry, this is dumb I didn't mean to wake you up. I'll call later-" He sounds frail, like the time we stayed up to see the sunrise in Italy, his quiet voice shaking then as well with emotion he still didn't understand. Sadly, I can still hear him. _I've never felt anything this real before._ It scares me, this voice of his, it always scares me. It's too revealing and honest.

"Stop, what's up? I don't mind," I say, trying for light. Hopefully he just needs someone to talk to, maybe it's nothing.

"I just, uh…um." He sounds pained. He struggles to take a breath and it's shaky as hell. Every time he sounds like this it means he's terrified of something. Or of himself, how he feels, how his mind's working in overdrive to make sense of something he can't quite communicate. The desire to comfort him is overwhelming. He's quiet for too long, too many shaky inhales and not enough exhales. He doesn't realize how much time has passed, I don't think. He doesn't realize that he's worrying me.

"Timmy?" I ask in earnest, trying to pull him out of his thoughts. Why didn't he video call me, why can't I see his face? Damnit, kid.

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just uh." He takes a deep breath and clears his throat a little. The sound hurts, as if he's trying to mask the struggle he's so clearly going through. He should know better by now than to hide that from me. "So, I um, I'm listening to the audiobook," he says. I can tell he's trying not to cry and I don't quite understand. I wish he would just talk to me.

The audiobook, though. That's a good sign, it meant he was finally in a place where he could listen to it. I wasn't an idiot, I knew things were hard for him after filming. I knew revisiting the story by listening to the book, listening _to me_ read the book, I knew it would take time. But ever since I recorded it, I'd wanted his feedback. It was so strange to sit there for hours and hours and get into the head of Elio. It was harder than I thought it would be, actually; I didn't anticipate it to drain me the way it did. I remember calling him after the first day, trying like hell not to let him hear it in my voice and probably failing. _You just have to remember that he wants you- well, Oliver- so badly that it pains him. He feels everything too much, every little nuance of Oliver's actions, I felt every single one of them too much._ I didn't know how to do that, didn't he know that? That's why it worked so well, for me to play Oliver. Oliver withdraws when he's afraid, he tries to be strong, tries to _be good_. Elio was so different. Luca told me that I wasn't feeling it, that I needed to go back to that summer and feel it to get through the book. He was there the second day and it helped, but it took a toll. He'd look at me and tell me stories during my breaks, things I didn't want to remember but needed to in order to get the emotion into the book.

_Do you remember when we filmed the first breakfast scene and Timmy didn't talk to you before we started? You threw a fit, do you remember? You made us wait while you pulled him aside and made him tell you what was wrong before we could get the shot just right. You were so nervous you'd done something wrong, thought you hurt his feelings the night before or something trivial when really he just hadn't had coffee. Remember that feeling? That's an Elio feeling. Use it._

_I remember a particular instance where you came to me and said you couldn't stop thinking. It was a kiss scene, no? The first, I think. You couldn't get out of your head and it was showing. Hold onto the turmoil, remember what that was like when he was kissing you and your mind was working too fast, and use it. Play it back in your mind if you must._

_Maybe you should call him, yes? Listen to his voice and think about how he said these things, the emotion he put into the scene. You practiced so often you should be able to go back to that place with him. It will help, trust me. Here, we're on break already, just call him. I'll leave you._

I brush the memories aside and try to be there for Timmy. "About time," I say, forcing a laugh. He can see through it, I'm sure. "What do you think?" I cringe. Fuck, I didn't mean for it to sound like I'm chasing validation. His silence hurts more than anything he could possibly say and I fear the worst. I fidget, picking at the fuzz on the blanket, drawing circles on the couch cushion, bouncing my leg.

He probably thinks that I messed it up, or maybe he's sad that he didn't get a chance to read it. I worried about that so much, even asked him about it when I got the call for it. He told me it was fine, but I knew there was some hesitation. He told me he wouldn't have it any other way, that if they asked him he would just tell them no so they'd come back to me.

"It's um…it's weird." I sigh, just slightly. I tell him it was weird to record, hoping he'll continue. He doesn't. "Yeah," is all he says.

The silence between Timmy and I hangs in the air and I can feel him as much as hear him taking shaky breathes, waiting for me to talk. I know he's hiding something, some fear or pain, I'm not sure, but I know that's the reason for the silence. It was so different in Crema, back when we didn't hide anything from each other. I had never had that with anyone, not even Liz to be honest. There was something about him that just made it _okay_ to feel things I didn't understand. I didn't have to be "The Man" every second of the day, I could just be me and I could be okay with being different from how I'd always been. There were no consequences to resting my arm around him, to talk about how my parents messed me up, to talk about how I felt out of place most of the time. There was only acceptance. I knew Liz would accept me, that I could tell her anything—she loved me more than I deserved and even comprehended—but something always held me back. I needed to be stronger for her, stronger for our children.

It hasn't been like this in a while between Timmy and I; it was usually so easy, but right now it was anything but and I feared the reasons why. Trying to remain calm, I tell myself that maybe it was just the audiobook causing him to be shy and withholding, maybe this had nothing to do with _us_. Yes, that was it. The audiobook. Because I was Elio and that was his role; that’s it, I’m sure. It has nothing to do with our complicated past. "Timmy, what's really going on? What's wrong? If you hate it, that's okay-"

"No! No, no Armie, god, it's not that, it's just…" 

"It's just, Elio is yours," I say quietly. If this was to be the truth, I didn't blame him. Suddenly I’m reminded of one time when we purposefully read each other's lines. We were on my bed and we swapped parts to get into each other's heads for the midnight scene. We were drunk and I could smell the wine on his breath when he pinned me to the bed and whispered my lines against my lips, his fingers pressing into my skin. I try to shake the memory and fail, Timmy's hot breathe on me in an instant. _Fuck, not now,_ I think. But he's there, like a vision, hand on my face tracing my jaw, whispering _Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine_ , his hands gripping my hair, hips pressing down, my mind going blank and he's giggling at me, _Your line is literally, Elio, it's the easiest line, how could you forget that?_ And I can't tell him it's because he's making me question everything, making it hard to think, hard to breath, hard to exist.

"It's dumb, I know." His voice pulls me out of the memory and I think _, no, no it's not dumb. It's not dumb at all_. "It's just, hearing you…say those things…it's like, I don't know…" I know, I want to tell him. I know why, damnit I know exactly what he's feeling and I wish I didn't. "God, no, you know what? It's fucking weird, it's like I'm back in Crema and we're reading lines in your room and I don't know how to deal with that because it's really fucking bright, this memory, and you saying Oliver like that is fucking my head up and it's like  _that stupid line_ all the time and you're Elio and I'm Oliver and you're Oliver and I'm Elio and we’re in love and I…I don't, I don’t know what's going on in my head but I couldn't keep listening to that damn voice saying those things. I needed the  _real_ you, not Oliver you, not…  _Elio_ …you…" I try to regain my composure at his confession, I hadn’t expected him to be so blunt. "Please, for the love of God say something. Or hang up. Just-"

"Why do you think I called you so often while I recorded it?" I ask. He has no idea, I realize. How could he not know that I'd felt the same way when I recorded it? I thought he knew, thought that was why he helped me out. I could have sworn he knew every second was like reliving that night in my room, reliving every moment with him.

"I…I don't know," he says softly. What else did I just assume he knew? What else had been lost in translation, what else? I realize I have to tell him—I have to tell him exactly why I called, so there's no confusion, so he understands that he's not alone in this. That there are moments where the memories are too much for me, too.

"I was in your head, for days, all I did was read that book. Over and over again. I hadn't touched it since we filmed, hell I didn't even study it in Italy, not like you did anyway. And then I had  _to be him_ , Timmy. I had to be Elio, and it was like every second of that summer was happening all around me. I needed your voice just as badly as you need mine." I wait, hoping he understands. I can't say more, because saying more means talking about things I promised Liz I didn't feel.

Something in the way he breathes changes and I know he understands when he whispers, "Elio." A part of me wants to chide him, tell him he can't say that, it's not okay for him to say that anymore. That was the past, that part of our friendship was over and we couldn't revisit it because it would ruin everything. I wasn't sure when this happened, when we went from talking about _everything_ to locking parts of our hearts away from each other. I suppose it happened gradually, with every time I pushed him away. A part of me wishes I hadn't done that, that I had let him kiss me that night in Italy. Things would be different, I think.

Then again, maybe we were always destined to fall apart. Maybe we were never meant to have anything other than that summer in Italy. I chuckle to myself; God, what a fucking mess.

I say it, because I know there is only one response to him saying Elio, that there will only ever be one response to him saying Elio. " _Oliver_." I want to tell him I'm sorry for all the nights when I held him back. It was different for him, he didn't have a wife and kids, didn't know what that kind of love was. He didn't understand that no matter what, my heart would always be theirs. Even if he had a part of me now, even if Crema changed me, I couldn't just walk away from them. I'd told him this that last night in Italy, held him while he cried. I wanted so badly to make it better, but I knew I never could.

"I don't know how to do this, the memories. They haven’t been this strong in a long time, I can’t cope."

I close my eyes and sit back against the couch, holding back emotion _. Me either,_ I think _. I can't cope either._ "Come visit," is what I say instead.

"That'll make it worse. Besides, I'll see you soon. Press, remember?" I can't even think about press, it starts again too soon. We'd done plenty of press and viewings before, we always got through it, but it seemed like every time we were apart for any stretch of time, I inevitably started saying things I shouldn't in interviews. Things like _I fell in love with Timmy_. Things that I shouldn't still feel after all this time.

"Timmy-" I start. I'm not sure what I want to say, not even sure of what I'm feeling. I wish it was different and that it didn't hurt. I sigh, clenching my eyes shut tighter, trying not to think about the last time I saw him. His hair was longer and he wore an oversized sweater that reminded me of that day in Crema when they put him in one of Luca's sweaters to shoot. He'd wrapped his arms around my neck and played with my hair absentmindedly like he used to, whispering that he was going to miss me. I hated saying goodbye to him, it was like Italy every damn time.

"It'll get better. It always does. I just…overreacted. It’ll all be fine, it’s fine, really." For being such an incredible actor, he was a shit liar.

Before I can stop myself, I ask, "What will get better, the memories? Or  _us_?" I hear him sniffling and it breaks my heart. God, I wish I could hold him, tell him it's going to be fine even though I know it won't be. As long as he feels this way, it will never get better and we both know it. "What's the difference?" he mutters, sniffling again. I hate it when he's like this, when I can’t do anything to make it stop.

"God, Timmy. I'm so sorry, I never meant for it to be like this." I wish he knew how true that was. I never wanted to hurt him, never wanted to break his heart.

"I know, I know. It's okay, really." He's lying; it's not okay. I know it's not.

There's a sound to my right and I look up, startled to see Liz. She's wearing one of my t-shirts with her arms wrapped around her body, concern etched across her features. _"_ Armie? What's wrong honey?"

"Nothing," I say too quickly. She shakes her head and she walks over to me, placing a hand on my face. I blink hard and bite my lip. I hate feeling like this, like everything is spiraling and I have nothing to hold me down. "Just Timmy," I say quietly. She drops her hand and takes a step back, nodding. I can tell she's hurt; she can see the emotion all over my face and knows it's Timmy who's caused it. She loves him, I know she does, but even Liz, who was the kindest person I knew, couldn't handle it when he made me like this. It was like a reminder that things were never going to be the same.

"Sorry," I whisper to both Liz and Timmy for very different reasons. She walks away without another word and I sigh.

“Don't listen to the rest of the book. It's just going to fuck with you, you know? You don’t need that right now," I tell Timmy. I know it's not the answer he wants. I know that listening or not listening won't change anything. I know he probably won't sleep tonight regardless, but I don't know what else to say.

"Yeah, no you're right. I know. I should just…try to sleep." He's humoring me and we both know it. Again, I wonder how we got here.

"Hey Timmy?" I ask. He hums in response, almost like he's already checked out. Maybe he has. "You know I love you, right?" I ask, carefully, knowing the words might break him more. I can't not say it though, I can't let him think I don't love him. I'll always love him, no matter what, and right now, when I can't say all the things I'm not sure I even want to admit to myself, it's all I can say to make him see that he's not alone. A memory flashes in my mind of the first time I said those words to him. It was one of our days off, right before we did the love scene. (Luca thought a day away from set would help us. _Go, be young, spend some time together. Then we will do the scene and it will be better.)_ It was raining so we stayed inside all day, Timmy practicing the guitar and me reading. He'd already filmed the scene with the guitar, but he loved it so much he kept playing. He'd even charmed Nicholas into giving him more lessons. I listened to him, sometimes humming along to whatever melody he created. We were both on his bed and sometimes he'd look over at me and smile. We sat like that for hours, just content to be in each other's company. After lunch, he taught me how to play something. I was horrible, to say the least—I nearly broke a string and we ended up laughing like crazy, him taking the guitar away from me and saying my privileges were revoked until I could “respect the instrument.” I fell on my side and through a smile told him. _God, I love you_. He froze, mid laugh, and stared at me. _I love you, too,_ he'd said, _so much, god you have no idea_. We spent the rest of the day talking about random stuff, sometimes telling stories about things we'd kept quiet about until then. Talked about our first times, things we were nervous about with the following day's shoot. Practiced, practiced so much I thought we weren't going to stop. A little disappointed when we did.

Timmy sighs on the other line and says, "I know." My heart aches and I start to say I'm sorry but the line goes dead. I drop my hand, holding my phone in my lap. He's never hung up on me. My hands start shaking and I worry that this time he won't come back, that this time the memories are so strong that he won't be able to let go of that summer. I hastily type out a text and wait for him to respond.

I wait for half an hour before I give up and go back to the bedroom.

I sink into the mattress and pull the blankets over my body, facing away from Liz. Emptiness sinks deep into my bones and I think I might have lost him for good. I'm reminded of what Liz said earlier tonight, before we started the movie. _I think you need to have a serious talk with him about what's going on, babe. He's in love with you and we both know it, and people are noticing. I love the kid, he's wonderful, so I need you to tell him. I just keep picturing him telling you how he feels and sweetheart, I don't think you can handle it either. You need to end this, whatever it is between you._ I tried telling her nothing was going on but she gave me this look, this sad look that broke my heart. _I know, I know there's not. But for him, there is. For him, there's something._

I hated her for being right. I hated myself for not wanting to tell him, for fearing what would happen when I lost him. She knew it, too. I was sure she knew that I was afraid to talk about it with him. Sometimes I wondered just how much she saw, if she knew that it wasn't over for me either, if she knew that I still dreamt of him, that sometimes she would kiss my neck and I'd have to walk away to stop a memory induced anxiety attack. I wondered if she knew that as hard as I'd tried to let go of Oliver, I couldn't; he was a part of me now, and that meant Timmy was, too. I couldn't shake him, and it scared me.

Of course she knew, though. That was why she told me to talk to him about it, she was tired of seeing the look in my eyes. She knew I loved her and was devoted to this family. She knew I'd never do anything to risk losing that. She trusted me.

I never thought it was possible to be in love with two people at the same time. I always thought that once you found your person, that once you found the one you'd spend forever with, that would be it. I thought that, sure, I'd find people attractive, but I'd never be able to give my heart away that way to anyone else. When I held Harper in my arms the first time, I knew I'd never love anyone as much as I loved Liz.

I felt like I'd betrayed her, every damn day I felt like I betrayed her. Loving him was the worst thing I could ever do. When she visited me in Italy, she told me she could tell there was something there. _It's fine, sweetheart. I know you need to explore that for the role, but please don't forget this is a role._ When I'd returned home, she took one look at me and knew. That first night, she held me in her arms and told me she knew it was going to take some time, that she understood, that she was there for me. Every day felt like I was carrying this weight, this secret. I tried to fall out of love, I really did. Some days I could even convince myself I'd succeeded, but then I'd remember, and I was pulled back in. He'd visit, or I'd visit him, or Luca would ask about us, or the interviewers would bring it up, literally anything could push me back down to that place and I felt like such an imposter.

It was getting better, slowly. I could fight the memories sometimes. I could look at Harper or Ford and remember what I was fighting for. But the press was the worst. I feared more than anything that I would slip up every time we did press. I stopped watching the film during the watch parties long ago, couldn't stand to sit next to him and watch us fall in love.

It's hours later when I get a reply.

_I wish things were different._

I can't stop the tears as I read his text over and over again, still cloaked in the darkness of night. It was morning for him and I wonder if he slept at all. My guess was he didn't. Liz was still passed out on the other side of the bed, and I type out a response. _Me too._

One day, it won't be like this. One day, it won't hurt to think about him alone in his apartment. I won't wish I had a choice. I won't love him.

One day, it'll all be like a dream. We'll joke about Italy like we were different people back then. We'll reminisce about riding bikes and we won't be haunted by the memories of exploring each other's hearts and bodies. We'll sit across from each other and I won't have the urge to touch his hand. One day, it will all be nothing more than a memory, and we’ll be perfectly content with where we are.

But until then, we sit in silence, thousands of miles apart, memories plaguing us both. I sigh and look up at the ceiling. _We’ll always have Italy_. I just wish that tonight, that was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support from this fic, guys. Seriously. Yall are the best.

**Author's Note:**

> Find my on tumblr if you like cmbyn trash, lookingforatardis. Also, if you're into playlists, check out mine. It was the soundtrack to this fic: https://open.spotify.com/user/nizzie23/playlist/6YiuX01wQlFQFH3ITajtYO


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